


(isn't it obvious) you were right in front of me

by becamitchill



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Drug Addiction, F/F, Mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becamitchill/pseuds/becamitchill
Summary: Chloe thought the hardest thing she'd have to face was Beca leaving her years ago, but New York City may have some unforeseen complications.started from prompt submitted to me via tumblr: "there's nothing here for me anymore" pleasetitle from utah ft. chptrs - obvious
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	1. i’ll hold it in (everything i wanted to say)

**Author's Note:**

> I have entirely forgotten what song the title of this chapter comes from– whoops.

# 2015

The words hit Chloe like a car crossing the railroad tracks at the wrong time in hopes to get across town faster; Beca’s the train and Chloe’s the car stupidly playing chicken. It cracks open her unspoken feelings, rips at her lungs, and twists her throat up keeping her from taking a breath. She blinks, bewildered and unsure what to say. She always knew Beca felt alone in this small town, but Chloe truly had thought she meant something to Beca– or at the very least eased Beca’s pain. 

She finds the words in a question, wants to pry a little at Beca’s thoughts. “Are you going somewhere?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, Chloe rethinks them. They sound stupid. Beca’s always spoken of moving to a bigger city—Los Angeles mostly—and finding her place among people who care less about what people are doing with their lives than she does. It should be an obvious answer, but the money’s never been there to do so. Beca’s never been able to hold a reasonable paying job to even save more than a hundred or so a month because of school, she doesn’t even have a car to really go anywhere. So, Chloe worries somewhere lies six feet under a stone plaque that will wither away with time. It wouldn’t be the first time Beca’s mentioned something along those lines, but Chloe’s never actually felt so worried before. It’s always been wrapped in a self-deprecating joke, shrugged off with a laugh, ‘I’m just kidding, Chloe.’ Beca’s not laughing this time, she’s not even smiling. 

Beca shrugs and frowns as she pulls at the loose ends of her ripped jeans. “I dunno.” She mumbles quietly in Chloe’s car. Beca sounds distant, lost in cogwheels of thoughts that Chloe can almost hear. 

Chloe waits for the cogs to stop spinning, waits for Beca to organize and process them because she’s learned throughout the years that Beca doesn’t always think before speaking. Sometimes words just spill out. Sometimes what Beca says isn’t exactly what she wants to convey and it’s especially true when she feels vulnerable. There are times when Chloe has found herself trying to help Beca figure it out, tried to pry for more and more in a test to see how many layers she can pull back without pushing Beca too far, only to be shut out. 

Right now, Chloe doesn’t feel like pushing because she’s too afraid Beca might run instead of facing whatever she’s feeling right now head-on and this feels important. So she waits in the thickening silence, watches Beca’s features twist in thought. 

Beca shakes her head, pursing her lips before speaking again, this time with more purpose. “I always joke that I wanna die, but like, I dunno.” She pauses, her lips thinning into a sad grin. “It’s not like I have much going for me here.” Pulling her phone from her lap, Beca scrolls before handing her phone over.

Chloe grabs it gently, looking at the photo on the screen; it’s a woman.

“That’s my mom.” 

Chloe’s lips part in shock and she observes the photo more closely. A woman, who looks like an older, blonder Beca, stands next to a tall brown man with three kids—younger than Beca, maybe no older than 10. They look… happy. Content in whatever life they live; notably with money as Chloe spots the big house that looks like a fancy architect designed it. They look put together, they’re well dressed, and Chloe notes the expensive sweater one of the kids is wearing. “I thought you didn’t-” 

“Yeah, I found her. She’s in New York and I think I’m gonna see her- er, well, I mean, I-” Beca sighs and Chloe watches as Beca worries her lips, fingers brushing against her chin. Releasing her lip, Beca takes a breath and holds it as she speaks, as if breathing will keep her from saying anything, “She offered to let me stay and help me.” 

Chloe can only blink back at Beca as anger boils in her chest, heavy and constricting like there’s a weight pressing against it. Beca’s mom had left when she was four years old, strung out on drugs, and unable to achieve sobriety for her own child; unlike Beca’s father who, at the time had become sober enough to parent for a while. Yet, here was Beca’s mother in a picture on Beca’s phone, happy and with her own family; a family with money, no less. And Beca sits next to her, traumatized and disheveled, tattoos covering up pain and oversized shirts that have become scratchy with too many washes. Beca, who lives in a house with a permanent smell of whiskey and drugs. She’s angry that Beca’s father became no better than her mother and now her mother is halfway across the country with a dream life that should have been Beca’s. 

She’s angry that Beca is her only real friend and is now leaving her. She’s angry that she’s being selfish because Beca needs help and if leaving is going to do that, Chloe needs to let her even if it makes Chloe’s chest twist uncomfortably. Still, Chloe feels protective and she worries that this mother of Beca’s can’t be trusted. 

“There’s just-” Beca sighs, putting her head in her hands, “I can’t stay anymore, I’m not going to make it to graduation either way,” she lifts her head, drops her hands in her lap and looks through the windshield. “But, at least this way I won’t, like, be dead.” Beca laughs, it’s empty, but it’s laughter and hiding what’s probably fear and hurt. 

Chloe starts the car engine. It sputters, rattles, and then comes to life and Chloe hands the phone back to Beca, looking at her with determination. “Then let’s go.” 

There’s a hand on her thigh that squeezes and Beca is frowning, opposite of what Chloe had expected. “You can’t go with.” 

“Why not? I don’t trust this Beca. I don’t want you to go to New York all alone, it’s dangerous, and how are you even going to get there?” Chloe doesn’t know when she started yelling, but Beca hand flinches away from Chloe’s thigh at her last words and Chloe feels horribly guilty about it. Emotions have always gotten the best of her and she feels like control has wormed its way out of her hands because Beca doesn’t want her to come with and the rejection aches. She wants—desperately wants—to tell Beca how much she loves her, how much the world feels right around her. How being around Beca is like soaking up sunlight in the dead of winter and fresh snow on Christmas, or the smell of rain in summer mornings, the dew fresh on the grass. 

“Because you have a family here; friends, even.” Beca’s voice is steady and soft. 

‘I’d leave it all in a heartbeat for you’ is what Chloe wants to say. ‘I’d spend my nights on an air mattress and split ramen every night if it meant we could go together.’ She wants to say ‘I love you’ and kiss Beca for hours in the car, hold her hand, and pull her close in the backseat when they start to feel tired. Instead, Chloe says nothing at all. Too afraid it would be too much for Beca, too much to put on Beca’s plate and to then weigh options she should have to, like waiting until summer to leave or not going at all. To knowingly break Chloe’s heart into fragmented pieces if she leaves – like she should do. To argue and yell, cry and shake at how unfair it is to know now, to know after all these years that Chloe has loved her endlessly. To make Beca wait for Chloe to graduate and inevitably make poor college decisions based on how close they are instead of what’s best for herself. It would be unfair to do that to Beca. 

“I don’t have anything here, Chloe.” Beca shakes her head and looks out of the car window, the glass has fogged up from the warm air in the car. 

“You have me.” She can hear her voice waver, break unwillingly. 

Beca looks back at her, still empty and void of the hurt she may feel from leaving Chloe; something Chloe thought Beca would at least feel. “It’s not enough, I’m sorry. Goodbye Chloe.” 

Chloe watches as Beca leaves the car, shutting the door, and slamming Chloe’s heart into a wall and leaving it shattered on the floor. 


	2. something warm, something slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title from the paper kites - when our legs grew tall

# Present

It was five years and two months ago when Chloe Beale last saw Beca Mitchell. Maybe her math is a little off, but she’s pretty sure it was May when Beca Mitchell walked out of her car and was never seen again by anyone in that tiny town in Georgia. Beca’s social media had been deactivated across the board a few days later–not that it had ever been used very much–and no one talked about it. She remembers how her gut had twisted with anxiety and the pain of missing Beca around people who still continued to ignore her existence. 

Five years and some time; relationships have formed and broken themselves over and over within that time. College in Ann Arbor, Michigan had been good for her even if she suffered some minor frostbite her sophomore year. She met her, now, best friend Aubrey Posen there as they had been assigned as roommates who bonded over their shared love for music and what it meant to them. They made friends together, held small gatherings in their apartment they later rented together. Romantically, Chloe had thought she moved on. She had gone through some not-so-serious relationships her first two years at Michigan and those were good for her, she learned a lot about herself and where she fell on the spectrum of sexuality. The summer before her junior year, however, Chloe fell in love with a boy named Tom. 

Tom was a Michigan kid, born and raised. He lived and breathed hockey growing up, hunting was a family event, and his favorite ice cream is superman. He had gone to Michigan University on a scholarship for hockey and was studying sports medicine. Chloe had met him during her second semester her sophomore year at a party, but she had been focused on Ty; someone she was on-again off-again hooking up with. They had introduced Chloe to Tom as they had grown up with him in school, but never really spoke with until after high school. Tom was funny, made her laugh, and said a lot of the right things. Things Ty never said or hinted to wanting and because of that, Chloe’s focus shifted away from someone who was probably never going to be ready for something serious.

Chloe was in love by the end of summer and that love had lasted through graduation, but their lives were quickly changing and a job in New York City was pulling her away from Tom. Breaking up felt inevitable because Tom never wanted to move away from Michigan and Chloe couldn’t blame him from that, she knew he would probably never leave, and she knew she would never stay very long. 

NYC was unbearable at first, but she has a year under her belt now. She has friends, a steady job, and even Aubrey (who decided Texas was much too hot). She’s even been kind of seeing a guy named Ben, who she met at a bar a month ago while out with Aubrey and her girlfriend Stacie. So, Beca Mitchell is far from her mind. At least up until Chloe bumps into her– literally, at a market. 

“Shit-” 

“Ohmygosh, I’m so-”

Five years and two months is apparently long enough for Chloe to forget the way Beca steals her breath away. It’s apparently not long enough to move on because a million and one emotions come rushing all at once and she’s left standing there with mouth agape, hands on either side of Beca’s arms, gripping tightly to keep what was supposed to be a stranger from falling over. Beca’s eyes are wide, they’re a lighter blue than Chloe remembers and the use of eyeliner and eye shadow has been tamed to something more subtle. 

“Chloe?” 

Chloe blinks, dropping her hands from Beca’s arms to take a step back and properly look over the girl she hasn’t seen since high school. Beca looks good. Beca looks like the last five years have been good to her, better than her former years ever were to her. She’s got this v-neck black shirt on with a red jacket; the sleeves are rolled up near her elbows and where there used to be marks on her arms are tattoos. Her jeans fit, legs no longer hiding behind oversized ones that once dragged across the school hallways cause the ends to fray and dirty quickly, and… she’s wearing dark colored boot heels. Chloe feels shocked at the fact that Beca’s mother clearly stepped up and had meant that she would take care of Beca. 

“You look-” Chloe looks up, watching Beca look over her, “good.” Beca finishes, lips tightening in an almost smile–shy perhaps. 

Her mind rattles at the words. “Thanks.” Chloe blinks again, dumbfounded at the sight before her. Her lips part as her brain short-circuits with a sudden inability to speak. It wasn’t that she had forgotten about Beca (that would be impossible), she was just so sure she would never see her again; never hear Beca’s voice again because Chloe felt it so blatantly obvious Beca never wanted to see her again. “You’re in Manhattan?” She breathes–finally–and her voice makes it sound more like a statement than a question. 

“Um, yeah, I have an internship here.” Chloe’s eyes track Beca’s hand that lifts to push hair behind her ear, revealing a series of new piercings. “My family is on the East Side so, I’m stopping to grab my mom some…” Beca trails, shifting her focus to the fruit stand next to them, “-peaches for her cobbler-thing.” 

Chloe takes a step forward, immediately pulling Beca into a hug. Memories flood her mind; memories of high school and all the hugs she would force upon Beca just so she would feel wanted and for the selfish reason that Chloe just wanted to be close to Beca. Except, this time Beca doesn’t smell like the cigarettes her father would smoke, this time there’s something almost… floral. The hug causes Beca to stagger a bit, but Chloe just pulls Beca in more tightly, refusing to let go in case she doesn’t get to hug Beca again. “I’m so happy you’re okay.” Tears well in Chloe’s eyes at the sudden rush of emotions. 

“Yeah.” Beca murmurs quietly and Chloe feels Beca’s hands finally wrap around her. It feels solidifying and Chloe lets herself, for a brief moment, think about what “I’m okay. We should– uh, meet for coffee. Catch up or whatever.” Chloe hears a familiar, airy and uncomfortable laugh tumble out of Beca. 

Pulling back, Chloe slides her hands to Beca’s, holding them in her own as she smiles warmly at Beca. “I would love that.” 

Beca raises a brow at their joined hands before looking back at Chloe with a grin. “Cool."


	3. did it again, no control over my emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca's POV: 5 years ago and presently Beca is unsure of her choices and impulsivity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from: 10/10 rex orange county

# 2015

Beca’s not entirely sure what she’s doing. Like, she knows she’s in Scarsdale, New York, but she has yet to even tell her mother she was even considering accepting her offer. She had left in a rush knowing that if she hesitated to think it through, she’d end up staying in Georgia forever, and that wouldn’t do. She wouldn’t make it to summer; she can feel that in the way her body screams at her to stop moving altogether, to lay down and give up. That’s not really an option she’s willing to take, however. Still, the lack of planning on her end is leaving her with an itching for something she has no idea how to get her hands on yet– or let go of. 

Chloe was admirable (which is something Beca’s sure she’ll never be) for wanting to go with her. Perhaps, in some alternate universe that would work, but Chloe Beale–someone with two top-notch doctors for parents and two much older siblings who are very successful in their own right–has colleges to pick from. That’s a life she doesn’t know and she would never want to take that from Chloe. Beca loves her too much to do that and she loves her too much to see whatever ugly she’s about to face in trying to get sober.

  
Sobriety. Beca never really told Chloe about that part of herself and guilt coils itself around her gut in hiding away so much from Chloe, yet claiming to love her. Hell, to even being Chloe’s friend.

The perfectly painted white door swings open quickly and Beca feels her thoughts pulled back by the action. A tall, brown man looking rather business casual, stands before her and she feels her heart hammer against her chest. She knows this is Benjamin, her mother’s husband who works in some business department of entertainment. Words spill out of her mouth like vomit, apologizing and standing her ground at the same time about her sudden presence in a clearly perfect world Beca feels she would never fit into. “So, I’m-” she heaves, catching her breath, “I’m Beca, Genievere’s daughter.” 

Unexpectedly, the man smiles, laughs a little even and Beca frowns at that. 

“What am I funny to you or something, dude?” She has half a mind to turn around and take a bus to anywhere but here and Georgia. 

The man shakes his head, putting a hand up as he steps towards the door as an invitation inside. “No, I apologize, Beca. I was just telling Gen that her unanswered texts meant you were probably on your way and she owes me dinner now.” 

Beca’s lips part with annoyance and her lower jaw twists to the side as she looks at the front yard of her mother’s house. The grass is starting to green out against the dead, brown grass and the single tree past the walkway (made out of brick, by the way) is just starting to bloom with pink buds. There are bushes, or rather small looking Christmas pines are neatly planted in a row along the front of the house. Her eyes track back to the porch she’s standing on, made of stone and covered by a roof extending from the house. It’s all perfect. 

“I’m Benjamin-” he steps in the doorway again, apparently taking the hint that she’s not in the mood to enter the house, “-Gen’s husband. She’s at her office working right now-” 

Beca looks at Benjamin with a raised brow, “I know who you are and it’s Saturday.” She explains flatly. 

“Yes,” he smiles, clearly amused by something– what that is Beca’s not sure of, “well she had some paperwork to finish for a business deal she will be negotiating early Monday morning. Would you like to come in?” 

Beca shakes her head, tightening her lips together, “No, I can wait here for my-” she almost says mother, but refrains in feeling perhaps she shouldn’t, “-uh, Genievere-” she bites her tongue again because like herself, her mother perhaps prefers something shorter, “Gen. I can wait here.” 

Benjamin nods with a small smile and Beca wonders if he’s always smiling or happy that this kid who looks like she got scraped off the street like a piece of gum on a desk isn’t going to enter into his house. “Well, I’ll at least grab you something to drink? Do you like lemonade? The kids and I made it for breakfast this morning.” 

“Uh, sure.” Beca twists, dropping to sit on the steps beside the duffle bag she brought with her. 

Benjamin brings back a tall, thin glass of lemonade that’s slightly red with a lemon wedge, cut strawberry, and piece of mint hanging off the edge of the glass. 

# PRESENT

> _Chloe: saturday morning sound okay?_
> 
> _Beca: sure. 9?_
> 
> _Chloe: it’s a date._

Beca’s palms feel… sweaty. She shifts her focus away from her phone, placing the device in a wooden bowl sitting on a small stand before locking the door behind her. Her hand trembles as she fits the key into the lock, so she lets out a steady stream of air. She hadn’t been expecting to run into Chloe Beale and why would she, honestly? It’s Manhattan and Beca was sure Chloe would end up in California; it’s warmer and brighter... the ocean must be bluer too. Beca rests her forehead against the door after she’s locked the door, closing her eyes to fight off the million and one thoughts racing through her mind. 

Lie number 1: Chloe didn’t look good, she looked stunning and she can remember how her heart leaped into her throat, but she absolutely cannot go there. She can’t think about those things– she shouldn’t. 

Lie number 2: They should meet up for coffee. 

Beca pulls herself away from the door and removes her shoes before making way to the kitchen– eating is better than drinking. She grabs the leftover salad she made last night before grabbing a fork out of the drawer next to the fridge, and then makes her way into the living room. Her head throbs and she doesn’t realize she’s had her jaw clenched until she shoves the salad into her mouth. It’s less satisfying than the burn of alcohol down her throat, but she’s finally accepting that drinking is just as much of a crutch as drugs were. 

Lying isn’t good either and in this instance it’s potentially dangerous. It’s on her list of warning signs, but for now she’s going to chalk that up to… well, something else. A couple lies when meeting someone new or, in this case, an old friend is acceptable. Everyone lies a little; it’s just when the lies pertain to keeping falling off the line of sobriety or manipulation of people in order to keep using that are bad.

Yet, for the most part, her sobriety has succeeded because she’s been given the support, had gotten through the rehab and therapy for it, and she follows the rules and rules for herself– even if they can be avoidant at times. Still, lying is on the list of her own rules and it’s not something she does anymore. And stupidly, her mind is already thinking about those possibilities with Chloe; about the unsent letters in boxes shoved into her closet. It’s not rational on her part and it’s almost angering that her mind races with thoughts like kissing Chloe. Removing romantic involvements and minimizing the amount of people she lets into herself life works out for her; she doesn’t need the added stress or drama. 

Not to mention, Chloe is from her past and that is a huge trigger for her and she knows Chloe is part of that trigger because the desire for a drink and flashes of memories doing worse things start to infest her thoughts; something she was unsure of in the beginning. At the same time Chloe had been the only good thing about Georgia. Yet the trauma left behind regarding everything else is why she won’t go back to Georgia and it had become an unfortunate loss when Chloe was lumped into that equation off the bat. It’s why she never called Chloe or bothered to add her on Twitter (of course Chloe’s handle is the same from high school). And that had been easy to do, especially in the past years because Georgia had become a fleeting thought after exploring New York; after finding family and investing herself in those lives instead. It was easier to just… not think about Georgia or Chloe. 

She shoves more of the salad into her mouth and turns on the television in front of her, but she doesn’t actually pick anything to watch when it prompts her to make a selection of streaming services. She’s thinking about how good it had felt to see Chloe in that moment and how it was only after the fact she feels this way. That’s the problem with this new-ish–in the now trigger–she’s going to be facing Saturday at an ungodly hour of 9 AM, she’s unsure what’s going to happen, and if it really is going to be okay or destroy everything she’s worked for these past five years.


End file.
